


Cupcake For My Love

by Patchcat



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bakery, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Awkward Flirting, M/M, Writer!Derek, baker!Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-04
Updated: 2014-11-04
Packaged: 2018-02-23 11:19:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2545646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Patchcat/pseuds/Patchcat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles' routine is interrupted when Tall, Dark, and Broody walks into his bakery.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cupcake For My Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hazelandglasz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hazelandglasz/gifts).



> Written for the Teen Wolf Fall Harvest fest for hazelandglasz, who asked for a bakery AU with writerly elements. Hazel, I hope this hits the spot. :)
> 
> Special thanks to the fest mods and to my betas, J and B. Couldn't have done this without you guys. Can't express my thanks enough! <3

This had to be Stiles’ favorite time to be in his bakery. In the wee hours of the morning, when it was always so quiet and peaceful, there were few customers to deal with and he was free to knead his doughs and mix his batters with minimal interruption. He could get lost in the silence, his overactive mind quieting to a low frequency buzz as he cracked eggs and measured ingredients. 

“Okay,” he muttered, putting the latest batch of cupcakes in the oven and setting the timer. “That’s done. What next --? Oh! Bread.” He set the stand mixer up on his workstation and then snapped his fingers. “Cinnamon rolls! Oh, and flour! Must check the flour.”

Stiles hummed to himself as he went about his daily tasks. He found himself bopping around the kitchen to the beat in his head. Occasionally, he used his spoon as a drum stick while he watched the bread dough spin around in the mixer. 

His tranquil mood was broken like a cracked egg when he heard a loud crash from the catering prep area. He sighed. raised his eyes to the ceiling as though asking for strength, and grimaced when he heard, "Oh no! Sorry! Sorry! I’ll clean it up!" from the direction of the work tables.

Wiping his hands on a towel, Stiles made his way to the swinging kitchen doors and shouldered his way into the service area. “Please tell me those weren’t the cookies for the nursing organization fundraiser. I really don’t want to have to redo all of those syringes. Those things were a bitch.”

Sugar cookies cut to look like syringes did not do well in the oven. He’d had to be extra careful that the damned needles didn’t burn while the rest of the cookie stayed gooey. Stiles was almost 100% positive he had more burned cookies than he did ones that could go to the fundraiser. 

Kira, his morning cashier and occasional baking assistant, peered at him sheepishly over the top of the table where she was crouched with a dust pan and brush. “Ummmm. Not _all_ of them?” She winced and bit her lip, and Stiles groaned. “Sorry, boss!” She waved her hands at him when Stiles sighed in exasperation. “Don’t worry, though! I’ll stay as late as you need me to to fix this! You don’t even have to pay me!” She bounced on the balls of her feet, hands flying through the air in her eagerness to please. “Just let me get this cleaned up and I’ll get right on starting the dough and --”

“Kira,” Stiles interrupted, running a tired hand down his face and heaving a long-suffering sigh. “Just -- It’s okay. Why don’t you get this cleaned up, and then maybe go get the front ready to open?” Turning around to go back into the kitchen, he threw over his shoulder, “But _you_ get to be the one to tell Erica that she has to pipe those all over again.” 

Kira’s groan followed him through the swinging doors. 

~*~*~*~

Stiles winced several hours later, when the sound of raised voices coming from the prep area made it clear that Kira had broken her bad news. It was equally clear that Erica was. Not. Happy. About it. Taking a fortifying breath, he stood up from his stool and headed over, intent on doing his ownerly duty and rescuing Kira from Erica’s sharp tongue.

He paused just past the door, breathing deeply once again. _Man up, Stilinski. It’s just Erica. She won’t eat you...probably,_ he thought, poking his head around a set of shelves and catching Kira’s eye. He quirked an eyebrow, trying to convey “do you need help?” without drawing attention to himself. Stiles sagged in relief when Kira just shook her head at him and shooed him toward the front. 

Stiles was definitely _not_ ashamed to admit that he beat a hasty retreat. Kira could handle Erica, he had faith that the cookies would be saved, and he wouldn’t have to face his sous chef’s wrath. Disaster averted. For now, at least.

Stiles stepped gratefully out of the back, and pressed his hands against the counter, taking a moment to look out through the huge plate glass window that took up most of the front wall. The cartoon werewolf gnawing on a giant cinnamon bun that comprised the Bite My Buns! Bakery logo cast a distorted shadow on the floor, the ears and tail stretching like fingers reaching toward the counter as the sun rose past the building across the street.

Stiles sighed into the early morning silence, glad that the shop was empty. A few minutes later Kira emerged from the back and leaned back against the counter, arms crossed over her chest. She absently rubbed her fingers against a furrowed brow, and a tiny smile crossed Stiles lips at the familiar gesture. They’d been friends long enough that Stiles could see her embarrassment seeping through the stress of dealing with an angry Erica.

He knocked their shoulders together apologetically. He’s been kind of harsh to her earlier. It was just an accident, after all. “Don’t worry about it, Sparky. Could have happened to any of us.”

Kira snorted at the nickname and flashed him a grateful smile. “I know,” she said, linking her fingers in front of herself and flipping them to crack the knuckles. “She’s really mad, though.” She winced, and said “I’ve never seen her like that.”

“Eh.” Stiles shrugged. He’d had the misfortune of having seen worse from Erica. “She’ll get over it. I’m sure whatever’s been bothering her lately will blow over soon, and she’ll be back to her pleasant, loving self.”

Kira gave him a disbelieving look. “Okay,” he said with a rueful smile. “As pleasant and loving as Erica ever gets, anyway.” He bumped her shoulder again, shaking her out of the miserable funk she’d fallen into. “Why don’t you go get some air. I think I can handle all of _this_ \--” he gestured to the empty shop -- “alone for a bit.” 

Kira ducked her head with a smile, then made her way towards the door, bumping into the customer coming in as she went out. “Sorry!” she cried as the door closed between them.

Stiles chuckled and stretched a little, wandering over to the register and straightening the straws, before pulling a small notebook out of his pocket. He hummed a little tune under his breath and started putting together his cupcake list for tomorrow as he waited for the guy to place his order. It was finals week, and he knew they would be swamped with orders for those late night cram sessions.

“Carrot cake, lemon poppy seed…Vanilla chai tea? Hmmmm...Maybe that rum maple bacon Scott likes so much?” he muttered under his breath, chewing on the end of his pen.

“That sounds disgusting,” a light tenor voice said from above him. “Who would eat something like that?”

“My roommate and business partner,” he answered absently, jotting down a few more flavors in his notebook. “They’re very popular, actually. You’d be sur...prised…” He trailed off as he looked up into the most gorgeous pair of hazel eyes he had ever seen before. “Wow,” he breathed, an appreciative smile blooming across his face. “What can _I_ do for _you_?”

Hazel Eyes raised a rather prodigious, unimpressed eyebrow at him. Stiles just grinned at him and waggled his own. They stared at each other for a while before Hazel Eyes huffed and looked away. Stiles danced a little internal jig because that was totally a blush dusting Tall, Dark, and Broody’s gorgeous cheekbones.

Stiles took the moment of the guy’s distraction to give him a more thorough once-over. Jet black hair, expressive eyebrows, and broad shoulders were definitely right up Stiles’ alley. The ab definition he could make out under the guy’s form-fitting t-shirt made Stiles giddy enough to almost swoon across the counter. It was like somebody up there _really_ loved him. 

He was startled out of his contemplation of bulging biceps, barely contained by the sleeves of Gorgeous’ shirt sleeves, by a throat clearing. Warmth spread across Stiles cheek at being caught staring. He looked up and grinned sheepishly. “Um.” He cleared his throat and rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. “What can I get for you?”

Hazel Eyes smirked and said, “I’d like a Half Moon Special, please. With extra whip.”

“Okay, that’s one Wolf’s Bite and a slice of cake or cupcake of your choice.” Stiles started to ring in the order, but stopped and narrowed his eyes a little. “You know the Wolf’s Bite’s a werewolf coffee, right? Made with a special blend of wolfsbane and holly?”

TD&B just raised his eyebrow at him again. When Stiles didn’t move to finish ringing up his order, he huffed a sigh and said, “I think I can handle it.” Then those beautiful hazel eyes flashed bright blue for a fraction of a second before they returned to normal. “Happy?” the werewolf asked with a petulant frown.

Stiles held his hands up placatingly. “Sorry, dude. Had to make sure. Wouldn’t want to go around poisoning anyone, ya know?” Stiles leaned across the counter and lowered his voice with a conspiratory smirk. “That’d be _very_ bad for business.”

“Whatever,” the guy muttered, a reluctant smile tugging at his lips. “Do you have any of those carrot cake cupcakes you were muttering about earlier?”

Stiles glanced at the case next to him and frowned in apology. “Sorry, dude. Fresh out. But I do have a rum maple bacon.”

Hazel Eyes scrunched his nose in disgust, and Stiles tried his hardest not to find that absolutely adorable. “That’s just gross.” Stiles shrugged. To each their own and all that. “Just give me a slice of the lemon cake then.”

“Sure thing!” Stiles happily rang the sale, sliding the slice of cake on a plate across the counter, and reaching for a coffee mug. “Name?” he asked, erasable pen poised to mark it down on the ceramic.

“Dick,” came the answer, muffled around a mouthful of lemon cake as Gorgeous -- Dick, apparently -- turned and headed for the back table, the tiny two-seater they had tucked into the strange corner of the shop. 

Stiles blinked. Surely he’d heard wrong. Someone that beautiful couldn’t possibly be called “Dick.” Stiles stared in abject appreciation, watching those sinfully tight pants walk away from him. “Such a shame,” Stiles muttered when Dick sat down, hiding his glorious ass from sight. 

Stiles shook his head to clear such dangerous thoughts and turned his attention to the cup in his hand. He marking it with “Big D” and added a jaunty little sketch of their mascot, Dude’s, face, before setting it and the order ticket next to the coffee maker. 

“Hey, D!” he called. Dick looked up from where he’d been furiously tapping at a laptop keyboard and looked around the empty seating area, a confused frown on his face. “The coffee’s not quite done yet. Give me, like, five minutes?”

Dick nodded distractedly once he realized Stiles was talking to _him_ and went back to his laptop. Stiles tapped his fingers against the counter, chewing on his lip in thought. He nodded his head, decision made, and turned toward the kitchen. “Not a word,” he said as he walked past Erica, who were wearing a knowing smirk. 

She held up dough covered hands. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” She plopped a cookie onto the sheet tray in front of her. “He is very pretty, though,” she teased. 

“No, Erica,” he scolded, shaking his finger at her. “Bad, Erica. Make the cookies, Erica.”

He grabbed one of the cupcakes he made earlier from the cooling racks by his station, then went back out to check the brew on the coffee. Finding it finished, he gathered everything up in his hands and walked over to the back corner of the bakery. 

“I know you said you wanted carrot cake, and you looked so upset when I said I was out. Really, it hurt my heart to see you so crestfallen when I didn’t have any.” Stiles placed a dramatic hand over his heart, juggling the mug and plate and almost dropping them. He cleared his throat and steadied them. “So, yeah.” He grinned. “I had a little talk with the baker, and wouldn’t you know? That asshole was holding out on me. Had a whole batch of carrot cake cupcakes, right there in the kitchen!” 

Dick eyed him skeptically. “Oh, really?” he drawled, leaning up on his elbows and resting his chin in his interlocked fingers. “How fortuitous.”

“Very,” Stiles replied as he set the cupcake and coffee down and pulled out the other chair at the table, settling down into it. Dick just raised an eyebrow at Stiles’ brashness but didn’t shoo him off. Stiles counted that as permission and a definite win. “And out of the kindness of my golden heart, I’m not even gonna charge you for it.” Stiles winked.

Dick snorted and rolled his eyes. Reaching for the cupcake, he smiled; and Stiles breath caught. Dick’s smile lit up his whole face. Stiles was charmed to notice adorable bunny teeth behind those plush looking lips.

“Wha?” Dick asked as he sucked cream cheese icing off of his thumb. 

Stiles swallowed hard and looked away because _that_ was _definitely_ an image that would be following him to his special private time tonight. He turned back and blinked. “Wow,” he said, eying the scattering of crumbles Dick was chasing across the table with a wet finger. “You inhaled that, dude.” Stiles marveled at the wonders of werewolf metabolism. One of those cupcakes was Stiles’ limit, and here Dick looked ready to pack away a few more, never mind that lemon cake he’d bought with his coffee. “Want another?”

“Sure,” Dick answered, sliding his plate across the table and reaching for his wallet.

“No, no.” Stiles held his hand out to stop him. “This one’s on the house, too.”

Those eyebrows raised again, and this time Stiles was kind of surprised they didn’t disappear into Dick’s hair. “Really?” Dick said, sceptical. “Won’t the owner get a little upset with you giving away all of his goods?”

“Nah.” Stiles waved Dick’s concern away. “The owner and I are pretty tight. He won’t care. Besides, I have a pretty good in with the guy.” 

“Oh, yeah? And what’s that?”

“Well, for one thing, he’s the baker,” Stiles said with a grin. He leaned in, lowering his voice, and gestured Dick closer. He was gratified to see Dick push his laptop out of the way and lean up on his folded arms. “And “ _I_ happen to be the baker.” He sat back with a smirk.

“Ahhh, I see,” Dick said with a smirk of his own. “So that would make _you_ the asshole holding out on these cupcakes.” He popped the last of it in his mouth, laughter bright in his eyes.

“Heeeeeeeey!” Stiles was offended for all of ten seconds before he frowned in consideration, nodding. “Okay, no. That’s actually pretty fair. Scotty tells me all the time that I’m kind of an asshole.” 

“Scotty?” Dick asked with -- was that just a hint of disappointment in his voice? Man, Stiles hoped so! “Boyfriend?” 

“Oh, God, no!” Stiles was quick to answer with a deprecating twist to his lips. 

It definitely wasn’t for lack of interest on Stiles’ part, for all that he’d buried those feelings pretty deep. Although, who was he kidding? If Stiles thought Scott was the least bit interested and it wouldn’t ruin their friendship, he’d be all over that. But Scott _was_ his best friend, and that relationship was more important to him than a romantic entanglement.

Dick might be Stiles’ type physically -- built, capable, _gorgeous_ \-- but Scott was the moral and emotional anchor Stiles would always want at his back in a storm. Considering the man in front of him, he couldn’t help but wonder how well the two would get along should they ever meet. He hoped he would have the chance to find out.

“No,” Stiles continued with a laugh, poking at a sugar packet on the table. “Scott’s my boy. He’s my best friend. Also my roommate. _And_ my co-owner.”

“So,” Dick said with obviously feigned nonchalance, crumbling the cupcake wrapper between his fingers and smoothing it out again. “No boyfriend, then?” 

“Nope,” Stiles answered brightly, running his finger around the edge of the handle of Dick’s mug. He was gratified to see Dick’s gaze following the motion. “No girlfriend, either.” 

“Hm.” Was Dick’s only response as he nodded and dragged his laptop back in front of himself. He pulled his coffee mug out of Stiles’ fingers and brought it to his lips, closing his eyes in pleasure as he took a deep sip. 

Stiles swallowed hard when Dick’s appreciative noises came way too close to a moan for Stiles’ comfort. The sound was practically pornographic, and Stiles was convinced Dick was doing it on purpose. They sat in silence for a good few minutes, the only sound in the bakery the clatter of keys as Dick tapped at his keyboard, brow furrowed in concentration. 

“Sooooooo…,” Stiles said, clearing his throat awkwardly when the silence had dragged on too long. He tapped his fingers against the tabletop. “I guess I’ll just…” The chair scraped harshly against the linoleum as he made to stand up and go back behind the counter. He’d thought things were going pretty well, but evidently not if Dick was willing to dismiss him like that. 

Dick looked up, startled. “You -- you don’t have to go,” he said, reaching out as though to grab Stiles’ wrist. He dropped his hand and looked lost, as though he wasn’t sure why Stiles was leaving.

Stiles grimaced and shook his head. “I don’t know, man. You seemed pretty into what you were doing. I don’t want to be in the way.”

Dick winced and ran his hand through his hair. He sighed and looked up sheepishly. “I’m really sorry. It’s just -- God, this is going to sound like such a line,” he muttered. Looking up at Stiles, he said earnestly, “I really want to sit and have a conversation with you but I have a deadline and my editor is a righteous bitch if I miss them and I’d rather not have to deal with that and I -- I’m sorry.” He sighed again and hung his head. “I’m fucking this up.” 

“Hey, hey, no,” Stiles insisted, sitting back down and grabbing Dick’s hand. “No fuck ups here, dude. I actually do understand the need to do real, actual work.”

Dick snorted and didn’t look like he believed him. “Well,” Stiles laughed, rubbing the back of his head. “Current evidence notwithstanding.” They smiled at each other, sharing the joke. “So, you’re what? Some kind of reporter? Write for anybody I know?”

“Nah,” Dick said with a dismissive wave. “Nothing like that. I actually write fiction.”

“Oh, yeah? What kind? Maybe I’ve read some.”

“I...seriously doubt it,” Dick muttered, ducking his head and avoiding Stiles eyes. Stiles watched, incredulous, as Dick’s ears started to turn bright red. He watched the blush travel across stubbled cheeks. “Well, um,” Dick hummed and then muttered something under his breath that Stiles couldn’t catch.

Oh, this had to be good. “I’m sorry,” Stiles said with an amused frown. “I didn’t _quite_ catch that?”

Dick sighed dramatically, rolled his eyes, and turned his head. “I said,” he grumbled. “That I write romance novels.”

Stiles just stared for a minute, completely sure that he had misheard. Because this? Could not be possible. A guy this gorgeous -- unfortunate monikers notwithstanding -- _did not_ write freaking _romance novels_ for a living. 

“No,” Stiles said with a strangled, disbelieving laugh. “Seriously. What do you write? Fantasy? Sci-fi?”

Dick’s head thunked against the table, and he groaned. “Nope,” he said with a resigned sigh, rolling his forehead back and forth on the wood. “No, I write romance novels.” He straightened in his chair, glaring when Stiles started laughing. “Oh, yeah. Laugh it up, fuzzball,” he muttered, his frown deepening.

Stiles quickly got himself back under control. “Crap.” He winced. “Look, dude. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean --”

Dick held up his hand, halting Stiles’ world in their tracks. “It’s okay. I get it all the time. Should actually be used to it by now.” His tone was resigned, and Stiles suddenly felt like the world’s biggest ass. “Really, I’d love to have a conversation with you, but I do have a deadline so…”

 _Well,_ he thought, blinking in embarrassment and consternation as Dick went back to his keyboard. _So much for that._ Damn it. This was a man after Stiles’ own heart. He’d quoted Star Wars, for fuck’s sake! Not even Scott, much as Stiles loved the guy, geeked out like that for him.

“All right,” he said, gathering his composure as he got up and stepped back toward the counter. “I’m just gonna… Yeah. I’m...sorry for being an asshole.” Miserable, Stiles turned away, making his second hasty retreat of the day, and headed back to the register. He disconsolately rang up a couple of under caffeinated freshmen (he could tell they were freshmen by the overeagerness to get to an _8:30 a.m. class_!) and put some cinnamon rolls in the oven once Kira came back in from her break. 

By the time he got back from the kitchen and gathered the courage to look, Dick’s table was empty, crumbs and dirty dishes the only evidence that Tall, Dark, and Gorgeous had ever even existed. Stiles’ lips twisted in disappointment. “Way to go, Stilinski,” he muttered as he grabbed the bus tray and went to clean up. 

As he got closer to the table, his brow wrinkled in consternation. He distinctly remembered giving Dick an actual ceramic coffee mug. But sitting in the middle of the table, turned upside down and staring innocently at Stiles, was a paper to-go cup with what looked like -- was that a butterfly? “What the hell?”

Stiles crouched down eye level with the table and poked at the cardboard butterfly. Picking it up between delicate fingertips, he smiled, charmed to see that Dick had folded it out of a cardboard heat liner. “Huh,” he huffed. 

Looking back at the cup, he noticed writing on the bottom in a solid, blocky hand. “Look down,” the cup said, an arrow pointing down under where the butterfly had been. Picking it up, Stiles laughed with relief and amazement.

“No more an ass than I,” was written around the cup, with a phone number and “Call me sometime?” scrawled underneath it. 

The smile that crossed Stiles’ face felt like it might light up all of Beacon Hills. He couldn’t wait to tell Scott about this one.


End file.
